


Finally

by FromFanToStan



Series: First Times [7]
Category: One Direction, zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Feels, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 02:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromFanToStan/pseuds/FromFanToStan
Summary: Harry and Zayn are complicated young men, and their desires are complicated as well. They want each other, though.





	Finally

Harry and Zayn are complicated young men, and their desires are complicated as well.

Even at the height of the show, all the boys have learned to perform while thinking of other things. Is Harry thinking of Louis, of how he misses the feel of his firm body pressed against his, his sharp white teeth nipping at him, making him moan? Is Zayn thinking of Charles and feeling nostalgic and a bit melancholic that they never had the chance to strip down and hold each other naked in bed? Zayn eyes Harry all through the show, sometimes speculatively. Harry is more manic even than usual. They are pulled toward each other but bounce away quickly most of the time. Niall leans over to Zayn at one point to say, “What’s going on with Haz? He’s going to vibrate out of his skin if he doesn’t settle.” Louis comes over to whisper, “Better pet your boy a little, calm him down.”

Like Zayn can control Harry. He can’t even control himself. It’s taking all his energy not to drop in front of Harry and mouth at his dick through his skinny jeans.

Finally, the show is over, the fans are seen to, the boys are all piled into the van and returned to the hotel, everyone goes to his own room, and Harry and Zayn, without speaking about it, each retreat to their own rooms for thorough showers. When he’s done, Harry waits, uncertain if Zayn will come to him or if he should go to Zayn.They haven’t said; they never have been good at making concrete plans. 

He feels his heart beating. His hands are sweaty. It’s silly really. He’s seen Zayn get a blow job; he’s told Zayn things he thought he would never tell another soul. Yet the thought of having Zayn in his arms as a lover has him terrified by the strength and immediacy of his desire. He has been wanting for so long that having seems surreal. He cannot wait for Zayn to come. At the same time, he’s terrified that a knock will announce that Zayn is at the door.

Finally, Harry is thinking that he will go to Zayn’s, since he is usually the one to make the first move, and he is gathering his phone, wallet, inhaler, clean pair of pants, because who knows, into a small bag when the light knock comes on the door. He drops everything on the sitting room table, takes a deep breath, and goes to the door. Zayn is standing there, looking down, leaning against the door, in trackies and a tee, barefoot. He looks up at Harry, smiles as if to say, is it still alright, and Harry smiles, says, I was just coming to you.

He closes the door behind Zayn quietly, then turns. Zayn has been headed into the suite, but he stops and turns also. For a moment, they are still, waiting. Then Harry takes two steps, only two steps to bring him to Zayn. He slips one arm around Zayn’s waist and one hand up to cup his cheek. He whispers, because it seems right to be quiet, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Zayn lifts his lips to Harry’s, pressing lightly, and releases to say, “I’m glad I’m here too.”

Harry feels himself shaking. He wants to be on the bed but doesn’t know how to get there now that Zayn is here and close. Zayn murmurs, “Babe, I don’t want to be all forward, make this all about getting off, but could we take our kits off and get in bed? I’ve been imagining doing it all night.”

Harry grins at him as he reaches down to unzip his boots and toe them off, pull off his socks, unzip and wriggle out of his skinnies. The rest is easy, and then he is standing naked in front of Zayn, who takes his hand, pulls down the duvet, and pulls Harry onto the pillows. Harry had imagined that they would be frantic by now, but instead Zayn kisses him gently on the lips, the forehead, each cheekbone, his chin. He doesn’t use his tongue until he moves himself over Harry to breathe in his ear and trace the rim. Harry is still shaking. He reaches up to Zayn, to his mouth, presses his own against it, waits until Zayn’s lips soften and part, and then their tongues are entwined, their teeth nip at lips and ears, they spend what seems like hours in impossible foreplay, lips and hands touching everywhere except the erections that bump each other over and over. It would be funny, except that Harry wants to cry.

At last Harry can wait no longer, and he reaches a hand out to Zayn’s cock, brings it to his own. Harry fists them for a while, until Zayn tells him to stop, that he wants to watch Harry come, to please let him make Harry come.

Harry closes his eyes, feels Zayn’s warm hand on his cock, feels Zayn’s breath in his ear, his warm voice uncharacteristically voluble, praising him, telling him he’s lovely, gorgeous, that he has a beautiful cock, that Zayn wants him so much, has wanted him forever, and the words blend into the sensation of Zayn’s hand and make him dizzy. He vaguely hears himself babbling back, how much he’s wanted this, how he still has one secret, that besides Louis there was a boy in high school he snogged with, came in his pants with once, but it was nothing like this, Zayn is trying to kill him, he doesn’t want to come because it feels so good, but oh god, he’s going to come if Zayn keeps this up, and then suddenly, in spite of himself, he is coming, in a rush, and it seems to go on and on.

When he opens his eyes, Zayn lifts his hand to his lips, and he licks Harry’s come off of it slowly, thoroughly. He looks at Harry through his lovely lashes, and Harry thinks that if he were to die right now, it would be fine.

Harry sees that Zayn is still hard, so he pushes him gently into the mattress, licks his own cold come off Zayn’s flat belly, rests his cheek just above Zayn’s cock on the soft skin of his tummy, lets it bob close up at him as though pleading with him for touch. He feels Zayn’s fingers scratching into his scalp but without any demand. Tentatively he licks the head, lets his tongue trace the slit gently, tastes the slightly bitter pre-come there. He closes his eyes and breathes, trembling. He’s never given head before, and this is _Zayn_ , and it’s the first time. He wants it to be good. 

He thinks of what he likes, the feeling of being engulfed in wet warmth, the feeling of passivity, being at someone else’s mercy, the slide of lips and swirl of tongue, the just-right suction, and he tries to give it all to Zayn. He hears Zayn’s encouraging moans, “Fuck, Haz, yeah, your mouth is so perfect, this feels so good, you’re so good for me, Harry, babe, you’re killing me, yeah, god, like that, don’t stop, like that,” and his mind flashes back to accidentally walking in on Zayn with the girl from Belle Amie, where this all started. He relaxes his throat muscles, something singers are taught to do, and lets Zayn push all the way in with his considerable length. He wants all of it. It hurts his jaw but he would keep on for hours to hear his hesitant, quiet boy babble.

Too soon Zayn is pulling his hair, whispering, “Babe, I’m gonna come,” but Harry pushes his hand away, increases the suction, lets his tongue flatten and slide over the sensitive place on the underside of Zayn’s cock, feels the head hit the back of his throat, but he doesn’t gag, he doesn’t protest as Zayn’s motions become faster and more erratic. Instead, he looks up at him through his own lashes. Zayn’s head is thrown back, dark against the pillows, but he senses Harry’s gaze, and he brings his head up, looks straight into Harry’s eyes, and comes down his throat. Harry drinks it all.

When he’s sure that he’s taken all Zayn has, he slides back up to the pillow, rests his head on Zayn’s bony shoulder, kisses his neck, feels him groan a little. Harry is hard again. Zayn looks down at Harry’s erection and smiles. “I would like to fuck you, babe, if you would be okay with it? But it’ll be awhile. Can you wait, or do you want me to suck you too?”

Harry doesn’t know how he came to be living in this world, where Zayn is asking him to choose between being fucked or being sucked, but he loves it. Being with a boy, really being with a boy, is everything he thought it would be. Zayn is rosy and soft eyed, reaching around Harry’s waist to pull him close, wrapping him up in his arms, and even though Harry wants more, wants all of it, wants it now, he does what he has learned to do when he has a moment in the grind of their schedule: he falls asleep.

Harry and Zayn are complicated young men, and their desire for each other is complicated too. Zayn doesn’t stop seeing Perrie, so Harry sees women too whenever they have breaks and sometimes on the road when he knows Perrie is coming for a visit. Sometimes their sex is gentle, like the first night, but sometimes it’s angry, when one has gotten jealous, and the jealous one will punish the other. They talk about all the ways they might like to come, and they try everything that both agree to. Zayn spanks Harry, binds his wrists to the bed, and withholds orgasm from him until he cries for release. Harry fucks Zayn sometimes with no preparation, just lube quickly spread inside Zayn and on his own cock. They work out their feelings on each other’s bodies, but all the talking that has been an integral part of their friendship doesn’t survive their becoming lovers. In fact, they barely talk at all off stage except about sex.

Zayn doesn’t mention wanting to leave the band again. Harry doesn’t ask. His goal is to keep Zayn satisfied. If Zayn needs Perrie, it’s okay. If he needs to tie Harry up and make him weep and beg to come, Harry needs it too. His new goal is just to keep Zayn, in the band and in his bed. He knows they don’t have all of each other’s hearts, but the part Harry does have is just for him. He knows because Zayn tells him. Harry has opened Zayn up to something he didn’t know he needed--and if Zayn never explains exactly what he means, if they neither ever say how they feel, the complex of desire, infatuation, affection, intimacy, possession, shame, for Zayn at least, and love, for Harry at least, then their bodies are eloquent, night after night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The usual disclaimers.


End file.
